


Vices Turned to Habits

by profoundlycas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drug Use, Gen, OFC - Freeform, Stanford Era, mentions of John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 06:38:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8479072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profoundlycas/pseuds/profoundlycas
Summary: It’s been a year since Sam left, two months and 4 days since the last letter or phone call.





	

_[July 27, 2001 was a hot Friday in Palo Alto. Sam was so close, he could almost smell the lecture halls awaiting him at Stanford. The second he got his acceptance letter, he began planning how he would get there, where he would have to go first to get his dorm assignments, and, most importantly, how the hell he was going to tell Dean. He knew Dean wouldn’t take it easily. He would fight it until he was on the floor, completely broken and out of words. And then there was the task of telling his father. His father, who wanted Sam to become a hunter as good his older brother.]_

**_[Two Weeks Earlier]_**  

I never imagined this day happening. I didn’t even know he was thinking about it, let alone applying to schools. The acceptance letter came while he was in school. I handed him the envelope when he got home. It was emblazoned with ‘Stanford University’ as if it was mocking me, saying “We know more than you about your baby brother’s interests.” He wouldn’t let me follow him into our room, he holed up in there for a good hour before he finally came back out with a satisfied smile on his face.

“Good jerk off material in there?”

“Ha-ha, Dean. No, I ...um, I got accepted into law school.”

He picked up the sandwich I made him and began scarfing it down as I stood in front of him, trying not to choke on mine. 

“That’s great, Sammy. Always knew schools would like you.”

“Yeah, well I like this school back ...a lot.” 

His mouth was full of food and I watched his throat work down the food as I worked hard to keep my food down.

“You ...you can’t go, Sammy. You know Dad’s not gonna let you just leave.”

“It’s my future, Dean! He can’t just stop me from having a life outside of hunting, a real career!”

He set down the sandwich, the sandwich I made sure had everything he loved on it. 

“Sam, come on. Let’s think about this, hmm?” I moved closer to him, trying to get him to calm down before I wouldn’t be able to. ...too late.

“No! No, I’ve been thinking about this for months. I’ve applied to other schools and ya know what? I got accepted to a few other schools too, but I really like Stanford and that’s where I wanna go. I don’t care what you or Dad have to say. I’m not a hunter, Dean, I’m not meant for it like you are. You’re a natural. I’m clumsy and usually uncoordinated and last time we cleaned, you even had to re-clean my gun for me!”

“That was just me bein’ an ass! You clean guns just fine. And you aren’t that clumsy, you just need to get in some more training regularly. You’re a fine hunter, Sam. You know Dad wouldn’t take you on hunts if you weren’t.”

“That’s… that’s not what I mean, Dean. I mean…”

His voice got so quiet, I couldn’t help but picture him as the little seven-year-old with two missing teeth, asking if he could get a candy bar at the store.

“I don’t want to hunt, Dean. I don’t want that life.”

As he turned to leave, probably back to our room, I reached out and grabbed a hold of his wrist. “Please don’t, Sammy. Don’t leave me.”

“I’m not leaving you, Dean. We can still call and write. I just can’t live this life. It isn’t me.” He took his wrist back, unknowingly snatching a small piece of my heart too, and wandered into our room. I stood in the kitchen, staring at the outdated linoleum until Dad came home.

Their fight was basically what I expected it to be. Lots of yelling. Lots of stomping around. In the end, Dad told Sammy, “If you walk out that door, don’t come back” before leaving himself. He left us alone in the aftermath, in the tension that was still thick in the room. All I wanted to do was comfort Sam - it’s my gut reaction by now. But how? How could I comfort him if I myself didn’t want him to leave? So ...I left. I cringed as the motel room door shut behind me, but what could I do? Please tell me because, even after all this time, I have no clue what I could have done. 

~~~~~~

It’s been a year since Sam left, two months and 4 days since the last letter or phone call. I knew I wouldn’t be getting anymore when the third week passed. That’s when I found Diggy. Diggy’s a cool girl. It ain’t like that with us though, strictly business, with the occasional heart-to-hearts. I know, doesn’t sound like me - talking to some girl about my feelings. But Diggy gets me. And it’s not like she’s acting just because we have this ...business with each other. Ya see, Diggy is how I get my pills. 

Oh, my pills. They sit so nicely in my pocket, waiting to be needed. I got my Sammy Blues, Sammy Pinks, Sammy Whites, and Sammy Yellows. Blues for sadness, pinks for when everything just becomes too much, whites for sleep, and yellows for the pain. Most of the time, the pain is in my heart and I know they don’t help with that, but if I take enough, my pupils become pin pricks and nothing matters - not Dad gettin’ pissed I’m not out hunting, not the landlord bangin’ on my door each morning for rent, not even Sammy. Because with enough pills, Sammy is right next to me, hummin’ me to sleep.

I’ve thought about stealing a car and driving out there. What a surprise that would be for Sam, huh? I wonder if he’d be happy to see me. I wonder if he’s made friends. …’course he has, he’s Sammy. I wonder if he ever thinks about me, wonders how I’m doing. I get by with some odd jobs here and there. Usually just enough for my pills. I can sweet talk the landlord most months. She’s a sweet woman who is in need of another maintenance guy and I don’t mind working here for rent. It’s safer than hunting and I don’t need to be sober to do it, most of the time.

Alcohol used to be enough for me. It kept me warm on nights I wasted all my heat on tears and throwing things around. It blurred everything out after that last letter, the one Sam said he’s gotta move on and that it would be the last I’d hear from him. The morning after I got that letter and drank myself to sleep, I went down to the coffee shop in last night’s clothes and an 11 o'clock shadow. That’s when I met Diggy.

I was sitting in a corner booth, my feet up on the seat in front of me, wishing I had brought my flask. My thoughts were interrupted by a girl plopping down next to my feet. “Hey, man, ya got a buck? I’m short for a coffee.”

And she just ...looked at me. Expectant, but not judging; smiling, but not creepily. I fumbled in my pocket for my wallet, pulled it out, and dug through the change for a dollar’s worth. I really had to talk to Mrs. Walsh about some jobs around the building…

“Thanks, man! You gonna be here for a bit? I can grab my coffee and chill with you?”

“Uh. Yeah, sure, no problem.”

“Sweet!” She got up and walked up to the counter. She was very petite, probably barely above 5 feet tall. She had on black cargo shorts that hit mid-calf, some old sneakers, a plain black hoodie over an old Poison t-shirt. The army green fingerless gloves on her hands were starting to fray. I hadn’t seen many people with dreads, but her’s looked like they were actually done correctly and not by someone in someone else’s basement.

As soon as she sat down, the questions began. I was just waiting for her to ask when was the last time I took a shit. “Hey, listen, I’m not into questions, okay? So just quit askin’ now.”

“Dude, crabby much? Hey, I’ve got something that can help you feel better.”

She pulled out a small baggie that had two little blue pills. She slid them across the table, holding them under her hand until I took them and held them into my lap to look at. “What are they?”

“How ‘bout this. You try those out whenever you want this week, we meet back here next Wednesday at 2PM, if you like ‘em, we’ll go over details. If you don’t like ‘em, what’s the point, right?”

I felt the pills with my fingers. She had a point. And if happiness is even a possibility with them, I was down. “Sounds good. So, what’s your name?”

Over the years, Diggy became a good friend. Sure, we did business with one another, but she could always tell if something was bothering me and she’d stay and let me talk it through. She was all I had besides my pills most of the time. 

~~~~~

I received Sam’s last letter 3 years, one month and 11 days ago. I’m sitting outside the treatment center I was just, finally, released from. Dad is picking me up, he’s, of course, happy about me going on the road with him again. I’m just glad for the sense of normalcy I’ll feel again, gun wedged in my pants and a knife in hand. 

Things will be fine.


End file.
